


Molesworth Rides Agane

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Molesworth - Geoffrey Willans (ill. Ronald Searle)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-18
Updated: 2007-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:58:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The curse of St Custard's gives advice on nativity plays and the origins of mad maths masters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Molesworth Rides Agane

**Author's Note:**

> I have a terror of this being deleted for not being beta'd, so I feel obliged to point out that the many errors in spelling and grammar are intentional. Except the ones that aren't, but they're nicely camouflaged.
> 
> Written for Maestro

 

 

As you will kno this is me nigel molesworth aka the goriller of form 3b a witty karismatik, future atommic adventurer and all round super chap cheers cheers cheers. Tho you find me, my dere, in a dark and most dire mood as it is a time of year feared by all skoolboys (exept gurlies like fotherington-tomas) almost as much as the lat. grammer exam or the headmaster geting his new shipment of kanes. Which is to sa that it is time for the XMAS PLAY.

This is an entertanement wot is put on at xmas (there is a klue in the name for clot heads) so all weedy parents can cry in the audiance saing "look at our ickle wickle peter as the forth sheep on the left, olivier himself would not be a better sheep and hasnt he grown" as if they thort he would srink instead, not with wot they put in skool sossages chiz. Ushualy the xmas play is the NATIVATY which is the BIRTH OF THE BABY JESUS becos everbode know that one from div and the master in charge (so he think chiz) can hide in the back reading _the bride wore satin garters_ and haing a cig or ten while boys fite over who plays sheep sheperds angels and divers barnyard animals as rekwired. Fotherington-tomas blubs until someone giv in and sa "o all rite you can be mary if you reely must" but everbode not a wet and weedy gurlie kno the only good part is king herod the one wot gets to shout a lot and slawters all the baby boys (were was he when molesworth 2 was born eh? Could hav saved a lot of trouble, espeshuly for anyone who hav heard him pla fairy bells on the skool piano.)

If you are lucky enuff to be plaing king herod then hurrah hurrah and remember to get lots of praktise in SHOUTING but if not then you must tak all posible steps to avoid the xmas play. Do you reely want doting mater gazing adoringly from the front seats at you dressed as a cow or a sissy angle? Molesworth 2 delited to be a sheperd which prove we cannot be related by blood perhaps he was left on doorstep by traveling cirkus and parents were too tenderharted to throw him in the dustbin. I am the inkeeper moan moan groan which is almost as bad as being the angle he has one sene and doesnt kill anybode not even joseph. Joseph is grabber ma the head of the skool captain of the foopball team suprise suprise.

_Scene: Bethlehem 0 AD (before all history, even 1066). JOSEPH (grabber ma) is leading a DONKEY (peason) which is carrying MARY (fotherington-tomas with blue teatowel around his golden locks)_

MARY: Hullo donkey, hullo in.

JOSEPH: There is an in. We will nock and see if they hav any rooms.

MARY: Yes please do because I am grate with child and also I think the donkey is very tired from our long jurney.

DONKEY: I am tired because you are a fat oaf fotherington-tomas argh ( _exit donkey by faling off stage as JOSEPH nocks on the in door_ )

INKEEPER: I sa that was wizzard what yore donkey just did.

JOSEPH: Hale good felow, my wife is with child and we need rooms for the nite.

INKEEPER: Well you ort to hav booked espeshully in her condition, it is xmas you know.

MARY: Then please, kind sir ( _simpering at audiance even tho it is only english master and he is engrosed in helen's pasionate embrace with tristan_ ) may I use your stable and lay my pore baby down in the mangar?

INKEEPER: No you cant foul wench ( _authentik olde worlde talk_ ) what hav my poor inocent cows pigs sheep ect ever done to deserve such a fate as sharing a stable with the likes of you i ask you.

JOSEPH: Just sa the lines molesworth and dont try to be clever it doesnt suit you.

MARY bursts into tears saing inkeeper aka molesworth hav ruined everthing by being beestly.

INKEEPER: You think i'm bad yore in for a treat when herod turns up.

A SHEPERD (molesworth 2) enters sene.

SHEPERD: Is it my turn yet o please?

INKEEPER: Go away weed you dont even have any lines you only have a toy sheep.

SHEPERD: No i dont i threw it out the window to see how far it would go which wasnt far at all as it turns out.

MARY blubs for the ickle lost sheep and also because A COW (gillibrand) is eating her teatowel. INKEEPER and SHEPERD chase each other round and round the stage. JOSEPH shouts. MISK BOYS loose their place and start singing When Sheperds Watch There Flocks By Nite with the words changed to be about washing socks wot larks. ENGLISH MASTER, desturbed from peroosal of quality litterature, threatens all with six chiz he do not rekognise quality drama when he see it mr olivier would lap this up.

After nine or ten atempts like this anarky rules the stage until finaly the master in charge (har har) is carted away to a rest home for deranged skoolmasters and Sigismund the mad maths master who is made of sterner stuff taks over and nativaty play becomes exiting dramatisashun of the life and times of pythagoras and his hippotenuses. No gurls in this one. Fotherington-tomas cri at being made to be a triangle. Sigismund too destracted by deep thorts of mathemattics to notice when boys add Dracula the terror of Transilvanya to the plot and i am pythagoras van hellsing the fereless vampire hunter and mathematishun in his spare time hurrah hurrah.

Mater exclame later she hav never seen a producshun quite like it which i can sa with no false modisty is likely true, the bit were i hammer a right angled triangle into the fowl fiend's hart is sure to go down in theatrikal history. "Joly good stuff," sa sigismund the only master to coment on our brilliant performences everbode else being stunned into silence. "Thats just what pythagoras was like in real life and as x varies y aproches infinity ect," which goes to show what i hav always thort that too much maths rots away the brain i only hope the damage is not already done on me.

"If an angle had anounced the birth of sigismund the mad maths master," i sa to my grate friend peason, "it would have been a _right_ angle" but peason as well as haing a face like a squished tomato do not apreciate my sintilating wit. Stil it is wrong to mock the aflicted my deres, he cannot help his many shortcomings.

_Scene: Long ago, about 1066. MATER SIGISMUND is nitting a scarf when a RIGHT ANGLE OF THE LORD apears to her._

MS: Lawks, an angle!

RAOTL: Be not afrade for i bring you tidings of grate joy.

MS: O do you? thats nice.

RAOTL: Well tidings at any rate and thats frankly all you can ask for at the wages i'm getting.

MS: And wot are yore tidings, o angel who hav two sides that make up ninety degrees?

RAOTL: You will hav a son, mater sigismund.

MS: Coo!

RAOTL: I ortn't get too exited if i were you. He will grow up to be a mad maths master and terorise inocent young skoolboys with logarithms and other instruments of torcher.

MS: Boo hoo, not my only son, ect.

RAOTL: No use crying over spilt milk thats wot i sa and it could be worse, i'm doing a family next wot are expecting an air to their jellied eels busness and wot are getting insted that most odious of human beings.

MS: Not - a HEADMASTER?

RAOTL: Yes so think on you reely dodged a bullet there.

MS: Phew yes. Well I shall mak the best of things and my husband will build a wooden box with the times tables painted on the inside that our son will live in untill he is old enuff to make his own way in the world.

Which is how all maths masters are brort up and why they are all mad as fleas, as any fule kno.

 


End file.
